


Lockwood & Co.: An unusual case

by takaanamy



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takaanamy/pseuds/takaanamy
Summary: Two thirds of the agency is currently out of house and the remaining members get a phone call. Seems like nothing too serious and a quick look should seal the deal. Seems easy enough, right?
Relationships: Holly Munro/Holly Munro's Girlfriend, Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Lockwood & Co.: An unusual case

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime in November 2019, right after Halloween where I cosplayed as Lucy Carlyle with some friends of mine dressing up as Holly Munro and Flo Bones, I had a very weird dream. So I sat down, used my whole Saturday to put my dream into words and had this fifteen pages long one-shot with our beloved agents going on a small adventure.

Lockwood & Co. has had some pretty weird as well as nasty cases. The most recent of them all probably being the whole Marissa-Penelope-Fittes matter. A woman who had taken over her granddaughter’s body as a spirit to kill her daughter/mother just so that she could rule over her company which had in first place caused the Problem? Not exactly what I’d call a goodnight story. So yeah, we had seen some stuff that most would be unable to cope with but nevertheless did we do our best to keep London safe as it’s best agency. There were other cases too – which to mention is not the right time now, as the list is way too long. Still, this particular case must be one of the strangest things Lockwood & Co. has ever had to encounter. It had all started quite boring, but let me start from the beginning to give you the whole story.

It had been raining all day which – to be fair – isn’t all that unusual for a typical day on the British islands. Three (and one more or less unofficial) members of the agency had at that time been lounging around at Portland Row 35, Kipps being the newest of us.

“I can’t believe the Problem is _still_ ongoing. We literally solved the cause of it – case closed!”, he exclaimed while drawing patterns with his finger on our brand new thinking cloth. The Thinking cloth, ah yes, the concept of it being as old as our beloved agency itself. Every now and then though it needed replacement for it being plastered with notes and drawings varying from simple doodles to detailed sketches of horribly disformed Wraiths. Holly had just recently replaced it because George had gone over the top with one of his doodles. It sure isn’t worth or appropriate enough to be mentioned any further.

“On the bright side, we still have jobs to do!” That came from a grinning Lockwood who stepped into the kitchen, where Kipps and I were sitting around and drinking our afternoon tea from Pitkins. As always Lockwood wore a slightly too tight suit and looked his best with his dark curls and gigawatt smile. His energy radiated and I shifted knowingly in my chair.

“You have a new case for us I reckon?”

His eyes landed on me and his smile grew even wider.

“Of course! Just got a call. It doesn’t exactly sound like it’s going to be our most exiting case but it’ll at least keep us busy this evening.” Lockwood moved over to the table, carrying a little notepad with him on which he had scribbled down something.

“I’ve got three complaints from an apartment building on the outskirt. They all live on the same floor apparently and are the only ones to live on that floor. They’ve complained to the houseowner about ‘unnatural happenings’. None of them seems to be able to describe more than an uneasy feeling. But I say we’ve got a case with three complaints on the same matter. Better check that out before anything happens.”

Kipps stared at him. “You know”, he started, “a few months ago you wouldn’t have even considered taking this case up. But I get it, times can shift any moment now, right? So we better not spend this evening in and instead go after a vague description.”

“Well, it’s not exactly like we have anything else to do today”, I slowly said.

See, the thing about our jobs is, we don’t have any other skills than fighting off ghosts and hunting down Sources. And since the Fittes affair the hauntings had actually gone down. Not stilled down completely, the first weeks after that we were completely booked out and had even had to split up in order to tackle all the cases. As if right now, we still have around five cases per week. We’ve gone through worse – but had also done better. None of us knew what would happen if every ghost in town had been driven out, every Source sealed and burned.

Which reminds me: I haven’t properly introduced myself. My name is Lucy Carlyle. I’m a member of Lockwood & Co. and my Talents are Listening as well as Touch. My work clothes usually consist of a leggings and dark skirt paired with a shirt and my ectoplasm-proof work boots. I wear my hair at shoulder length, out of reach for ghosts and definitely less annoying than long hair which may end up covering your face during an attack. I used to talk with a skull in a jar that kind of became an unofficial member of this agency and disappeared after the big event of the affair. It still hadn’t come back and it may never – which probably is for the best and saddens me just as much. I’m best with my rapier by my side and driving ghosts away. Which is why I kind of fear (and I really, _really_ hate to admit this) the end of all this. The end of Lockwood & Co.

“That’s the spirit, Luce. And since the building’s quite new, I don’t think we’ll have to deal with an old vengeful Type Two. There might not even be a manifestation at all. Won’t hurt to take a quick look before George’s back.” Lockwood ignored Kipps’ comment and was already on his way to fetch our equipment.

Kipps shrugged and stood up. As he was on his way to help Lockwood, he paused and frowned.

“Where _are_ George and Holly?”

“George is at the library to do some research for the book he’s writing on hauntings and their causes or so. Holly said, she’d be out on a date with her girlfriend. Since this _was_ our free evening.”, I explained. I honestly can’t think of a reason why both of them had only informed me, but oh well.

“I see. So it’s just us three tonight then. Great. I wonder how that’ll turn out.” He winked at me and went down the stairs. I sighed and followed to make sure the boys packed everything we’d be needing. You definitely _don’t_ (and I can’t stress this too much) want to spend the night in a haunted house without your iron chains. Or you might end up jumping out of a window and into the darkness, hoping there are bushes waiting at the bottom to catch your fall.

***

It was around five thirty in the afternoon and already dark outside when we reached the building. It had taken us a nerve-wracking trip packed with heavy rucksacks weighing us down to the subway station only to realize that no train would be taking us to the place we needed to be. That’s why we usually leave the research stuff with George. We had somehow managed to stop a taxi that brought us to the outskirts and _of course_ both Lockwood and Kipps had forgotten or could not find their purses and I could pay the expensive trip. So there we stood, three agents in more or less full form, looking up at the grey and very ugly high rise building in which some elder people had supposedly come in contact with supernatural happenings.

“Lockwood, I don’t know if it’s just me but this doesn’t exactly feel haunted.” I sceptically let my eyes wander up and down the grey block. The whole area was exactly like this. If I were to live here, I’d never find the building I lived in because they all looked the same.

“Come on, we’ll finish this up real quick and spend the rest of the night with a hot cocoa. It won’t take long.”

There was something about Lockwood and his way of saying things that you’d blindly believe him. Even if it weren’t true – like in this case, as we’d find out much later.

“Yeah, I guess. And we’re here already. Alright, let’s do this.”

Kipps mumbled a few protests under his breath but followed us in nonetheless.

We went in trough the dirty glass door sealed with an iron frame, following the first rule of each and every agent: don’t hesitate at the doorstep. The lobby was a small cubical room with a desk for admission and a few dusty plastic chairs around a coffee table. I spotted some glamour magazines placed on it, the kind that our leader liked to flip through in his free time. Behind the seating area a narrow hallway lead to the stairs and elevators. The air was coated with the heavy scent of lavender and as I looked up I could make out piles of lavender bags being hung from the ceiling. I couldn’t make out any noises that didn’t belong other than the electrical buzzing of the bright lights above us.

Lockwood led the way to the front desk where an elderly man was seated. He had been reading a newspaper and looked up as soon as we entered.

“Good evening, Sir. I’m Lockwood, from Lockwood & Co. These are Lucy Carlyle and Quill Kipps. I believe we spoke in the phone about some reported complaints.” He extruded his hand to greet the other man, catching him a bit off-guard with his flashy smile.

“Ah, yes, I see”, the old man set down his newspaper and shook Lockwood’s hand. “Adam Garrick’s the name. I had called you because I received word from three of my tenants about supernatural happenings, haven’t I?”

For a moment Mr. Garrick seemed to consider getting up but then decided to remain seated.

“Miss Brewster, Mr. Hayes and Mr. Darlington. They all live on the ninth floor. Other than them having an uneasy feeling they couldn’t give me a more detailed description. And you wouldn’t want to wait for anything to happen you see, bureaucracy is so tedious these days. Anyways”, he halted and coughed dryly, “I am glad you could make it on such short notice.”

“Our pleasure, Mr. Garrick.”, Lockwood assured him and rested his hand in his rapier hilt. I groaned inwardly. Mr. Garrick wasn’t particularly a nice man and I’d definitely be relieved the moment I left this place.

The old man gestured towards the narrow corridor and more or less waved us off.

“Well, that was weird.”, Kipps said as the elevator doors had closed. He took out his fancy Orpheus-glasses from his pocket and held them readily in his hand.

Lockwood pressed the button and the elevator started moving upwards. I noted down the temperature. It wasn’t particularly cold in here.

“Not exactly charming, that guy. I say, we finish this as fast as possible and head home.”

I nodded. “Agreed. The sooner we’re done here, the happier I am.”

Meanwhile the elevator had come to a halt at the ninth floor and we stepped out. I could make out a bump on the wall, a light-switch which I purposefully didn’t switch on yet. Electricity interferes with supernatural forces. Then I stood, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes closed. My typical posture when I listened. But I got no echoes from the past and reported this to Lockwood.

“I don’t see anything either. Switch on the light, I think we’re safe.”

As the lights came on, we could make out more. There were four doors, two on each side. The carpet looked like no one had vacuumed here in forever. Other than that this tiny hall was empty.

Lockwood confidently strode forward, to the first door on the right. The golden tab read _Brewster_. We waited as he knocked. The owner didn’t take long to open. A tiny woman of unknown age stood at the doorstep, first looking confused, then smiling widely as she recognized us as agents.

“Oh, dear, you are so very early, please, come inside.”, she said in a typical old lady voice. She ushered us in and closed the door behind us.

“You must know, I had spoken to Mr. Garrick only this morning, I am so surprised you made it here this fast. Please, take a seat. I have to apologize, had I known you’d be here so soon, I would have baked some biscuits or at least some cake.”

We went through a hallway and into a living room opening to one large window. Most of it was covered by thick lilac and black curtains and the air was filled with smoke that almost made me cough. It faintly smelled like lavender. In the middle of the room stood an old fashioned couch. Creamy-white cushions with floral designs on them as padding and an ugly golden frame plastered with dark spots, where the gold had worn off. Two armchairs stood next to the couch, creating a seating space for conversations. A long shelf ran alongside the right side of the wall. This tiny room was filled with plants in the most different variations I had ever seen, and though I am definitely not opposed to some green in the house (in fact I planted some tulips every now and then back at Portland Row), this was a complete mess. All the places in which no plant could fit, Miss Brewster had filled up with ornamental stones and other junk. I could hardly make out a doorframe on the right side. On the left side a doorway led to a tiny kitchen.

I again didn’t get any supernatural signs through listening.

“This is getting weirder and weirder if you ask me”, Kipps whispered next to me, sending me a puzzled look.

“I can offer you kids some tea if you’d like.” Miss Brewster waited questioningly for an answer.

“Oh, that’ll be fine, Madame. We’d like to finish this real quick.” Lockwood put out his best smile. I have known him for long enough to make out that he was impatient.

“I’m Lockwood and these are Lucy and Quill, to make matters simple. So, Miss Brewster, please tell us what exactly occurred so that you decided to report to Mr. Garrick.”

“Well, Mister Lockwood, nothing really happened. I just asked for a reading, you know, me getting older and older, I’d like to know what the future holds. Didn’t Mr. Garrick tell you that? I am surprised, I must say.”

This was one of the rare times when I’d seen Lockwood speechless. Usually (almost) nothing could shake him but Miss Brewster did the magic. A few seconds passed by and I was about to worry whether I should speak up instead and lead the conversation. Finally he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, have I understood correctly, Madame? You were asking for a reading because you want to feel safe?”

“Oh, no no, don’t be silly darling. I am not stupid - ”

I was about to breathe out in relief.

“- I know that readings don’t secure my future. But I had hoped that perhaps you could guide me the right way? You know, I unfortunately never learnt the art of leaf reading or what else your method is for predicting the future.”

We went completely blank and starred at her, eyes wide open, jaw dropped somewhere on the floor.

“Predicting the future? What exactly do you think we do for a living?”, I spoke up, honestly being confused about what was happening.

“Honey, isn’t that what you do? You sure can see things, right?”

“Yes! But only dead things! Certainly not this nonsense with seeing the future!”, I exclaimed.

She looked bewildered, shocked even. “Oh, my! What a terrible mistake that has been. I was talking about future readings, not past corpses coming back to life. I am truly sorry for the misunderstanding, my dear. I might have to have a word with that Mr. Garrick.”

Miss Brewster shook her head in resentment.

Lockwood had calmed down enough to quietly stand up and explain to her that we’d have to take a leave. We followed him as he walked past her tiny figure, probably brooding inside just as much as we were. Miss Brewster closed the door behind us and we were out on the landing again. We each took a moment to settle ourselves in again. This incident had brought us out for a second. Then, Lockwood turned around, his typical charming grin on his lips again.

“That was a bummer, I must say. Never experienced something like that. I bet Holly and George will have their fair share of laughing at us. Nevermind, we have two more reports. Let’s get to work, we don’t want to waste any time, do we?”

Kipps rolled his eyes. “This is seriously the worst trip we’ve made so far. Why can’t we just call it a night and never come back again?”

“To be honest, I’m with Kipps on this.”, I reinforced. I _really_ didn’t want to knock on the remaining two doors, only to be greeted by someone who was out of their mind.

“Come on, Luce, that’s not the enthusiasm I’m used to from you.” He nudged my arm and I grumbled. “Kipps, I see how this is coming from you but we’re here already. We can as well finish this job, earn some pennies and go off into the night.”

And as always, Lockwood somehow got his way. We immediately found out the apartment next to Miss Brewster was empty and turned to the left side. Mr. Hayes turned out to be a grumpy old man in a woollen sweater and old fashioned trousers. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he resented us. His apartment smelt like everything he stood for: age, hatred and loneliness hidden under a thick layer of anger. It wasn’t very tidy (well, compared to George’s room – or as I had grown a habit of calling it, his cave – any room was neat). Books and papers lay around, empty mugs stood on each corner, long forgotten, and there was the tiniest swirl of dust in the air caused by the movements we made.

Mr. Hayes wasn’t friendly (as expected) and we left him and his four walls only being thirty seconds in. I hadn’t made out any sounds and when Lockwood had asked him about the report, the old man had laughed at us sarcastically and told us, he’d made it all up to stir things up between the floormates. 

“Lockwood, if this next one turns out to be a flunk too, I’m not going to hold back and probably punch you.” Kipps was done with this whole case, that much was certain.

“You and I both know you’d be on the ground before that happens”, Lockwood easily threw back and winked at me.

I sighed. It was getting late and I was irritated if you couldn’t tell by now. The boys quarrelling, throwing meaningless threats around didn’t help _at all_. This was one of the times I missed the skull very dearly. Though it was vicious and could not be trusted at first, I had learnt to value it’s insights. I massaged my temples to concentrate again on the task ahead and gripped both of them by their arms, having overheard their apparently ongoing bickering.

“Stop this, right now. You can bash your heads all you want back at Portland Row, right now we need to focus though.” Immediately they came to their senses and apologized.

“Good. So now let’s tackle this last door and head out.”

We stood there, grimly waiting for the door to be opened by Mr. Darlington. Hands on our rapier hilts, backs straightened, expressionless faces. At that moment, we were case-focused agents again. Mr. Darlington opened – and we stepped inside after briefly explaining our appearance.

***

Mr. Darlington was the complete opposite of Mr. Hayes. His friendly round face welcomed us warmly, not eyeing us suspiciously with a look of distrust and fright that we usually received from adults. He invited us in, his apartment being a mix of cosy and suffocating. We were seated on a comfortable brown leather couch while he explained the disturbances he had experienced.

“You young lads – and lady”, he bowed slightly turning towards me, “- have probably noticed that I am indeed not the youngest anymore.” His voice trembled due to age as he spoke slowly. “I don’t quite know how to describe it but I hope you will be able to put the pieces together. Lately I have had a very uneasy feeling. I can’t make out what it is and other than the feeling I haven’t experienced any – I’m sorry, what do you call that again?”

“Supernatural activities?”, Kipps suggested.

“Quite right, young man! Supernatural activities it is. I don’t have any children, let alone grandchildren that might help me out, so I’d rather have a proper agency take a look.”

Lockwood nodded along while Mr. Darlington got into more details. He had rented this apartment around five years ago, before that no one had actually lived here. He had collected a lot of stuff in his lifetime, though he had sent of most of it to be burned after the Problem had started. Still, something from past times might have a Visitor attached to it.

After he had finished, Lockwood got to his feet. “Sir, just to ensure your safety during our investigation, I suggest you remain seated on your chair. We will place an iron chain around you for further safety precautions. You never know, we might actually stir up something while we take our readings.”

Kipps and I had finished laying out the chain by the time Lockwood had informed the old man. I lay a smaller circle in the middle of the room next to the couch as our retreat. Then we began our tasks, each working in silent and reporting to the others now and then. After I was done listening, I proceeded to use my other Talent. Touch. I held various inanimate objects between my hands, trying to tickle out emotions from the past. Touch is a really tricky Talent. You might not be able to get reading the first times your fingers glide over the surface of the object and suddenly be hit by a flood of emotions, almost so strong that it knocks you off your feet. So I turned and twisted the objects – three times, four times, more times – and got nothing. No echoes of tortured screams, no sudden sobbing or psychopaths laughing.

Kipps had put on his fancy goggles, just to be sure. No ghost decided to suddenly show up.

I spotted Lockwood at the very end of the room. He had stopped taking temperature measurements and instead was scanning some papers he’d found in a drawer. When he felt my gaze linger on him, he looked up – and mouthed me something. I frowned, squinting my eyes to make out the words he was trying to get across through lip-reading. The first word was for sure my name, the rest I couldn’t figure out. After he realised I didn’t get the message, he pointed at our customer who had fallen asleep in his armchair. I nodded slowly to indicate I had understood that said message had something to do with Mr. Darlington. What he then did surprised me so much, I’d nearly laughed out loud. Lockwood tapped his forehead. I shook my head. Was he trying to tell me that Mr. Darlington was _crazy_? Could that be?

I walked over to him, careful not to trip over our rucksacks and chains. He held out the papers he had been going through and I quickly glanced at them. And of course Lockwood was right. Mr. Darlington had been diagnosed with some kind of mental illness that made him demented and delusional.

Annoyed I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “This _cannot_ be happening.”

Meanwhile Kipps had joined us and was reading the medical report. The further he got, the closer his eyebrows inched together. He threw the papers back to Lockwood and ripped of his goggles.

“Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving.”

I was completely exhausted. Warding off ghosts was definitely better than this disappointing evening.

“Have you found anything?”

A sudden voice behind me made me turn around. Mr. Darlington had woken up and was sleepily looking around.

“Uhm, actually, Mr. Darlington”, Lockwood began, “your apartment is not haunted. Not a trace of a manifestation of any kind. We better keep moving, you’re probably very tired, Sir.”

And that’s why Lockwood was the leader. Even now he kept himself calm on the outside. I on the other hand was on the brink of lashing out on the old man completely. Kipps had already gone off, collecting our gear and stuffing it into the bags. I followed his example and rolled up the iron chain. Carefully opening my rucksack, out of Mr. Darlington’s sight so he’d not see the bulky jar which was right on top. Yes, call me crazy, I was still carrying around the skull to each and every case in hopes of the supernatural forces somehow awakening it or bringing it back.

We made our move towards the door. Mr. Darlington held us back, telling us how very sorry he was for troubling us. Lockwood grinned wolf-like, growing more and more impatient with our client.

“Better safe than sorry. Anyways, you have a good night’s sleep.”

He shook the old man’s hand, seeming kind of startled for a second before his smile reappeared. Mr. Darlington shook Kipps’ hand too and was about to give me a handshake when I noticed Kipps fumbling hastily about. I shook his hand nonetheless – and that’s when it hit me. Some past echoes are as faint as a shrieking mouse behind a closed doors, others however feel like a train passes right in front of you. And the emotions that flooded me the moment I touched the old man’s bare skin definitely belonged to the second type. In the brink of a few seconds I went through an emotional rollercoaster containing rage, despair, hatred. I felt it so deep as if the emotions belonged to me. I gasped, bringing my hand back to me, clutching my wrist.

“You…”, I breathed out.

Kipps had put on his goggles and was staring at Mr. Darlington, face distorted in shock. I heard the familiar sound of a rapier being drawn and in a second Lockwood held his out against Mr. Darlington.

“I’d advise you to step away from us, Sir.”

A sudden rush of ice cold air made us shiver. Mr. Darlington hadn’t moved an inch away.

“Kipps, get the door.”, Lockwood sternly commanded, his eyes fixed on the man before us.

Had I complained before about this case being boring and rubbing on my nerves? Well, I’ll take that back for sure now.

“It’s locked!”, Kipps shouted from somewhere behind us. I glanced back. No way the ghost would let us escape that easily. And we had given it a free pass, packing all our defences such as heavy-duty chains away, tightly rolled up in our bags.

“Mr. Darlington, I don’t like repeating myself but perhaps you overheard it the first time. Step away from us, right now.”

Still no physical response from the old man. I on the other hand received all kinds of sounds. Screaming which sounded very much like arguing people, screams of hatred, screams of fear. And one final:

“ _You are going to regret this, Charles._ ”

“Lucy?” Lockwood had sensed the psychical contact.

I repeated what I’d heard and explained the emotions I felt behind those words. In one hand I held my rapier, tilting it ever so slightly for better balance, in my other hand I held a magnesium flare, ready to throw at any moment.

“Who is Charles?”, I asked the Visitor.

“ _I will make him pay. He will die for what he’s done._ ”

See, that’s the problem with Type Two ghosts. You couldn’t even have proper a conversation, they just give bits and pieces. Though I must admit, this probably was one of the most talkative Type Two I’ve encountered. I again passed on the ghost’s words to Lockwood and Kipps.

“Can any of you actually _see_ the ghost?”

Neither of them did which made me think. Where was the Visitor? Was it all around us? But why had I felt these emotions as soon as I had made skin-contact with Mr. Darlington? And why did he seem to be in a kind of comatose state, not responding to Lockwood’s warnings?

“Could it be… that Mr. Darlington is the Source? Or somehow has it on him?”

“Don’t be silly, Kipps. That’s not possible. There have never been reported living Sources. And he was completely normal before, wasn’t he? Poor guy’s probably just under the influence of the Visitor.”

I felt dread tugging at my every nerve. _Malaise_. The _chill_ had already settled in without us noticing. Ice crystals had formed on the edges where the wall and floor met. But still no manifestation.

Behind us, Kipps had somehow managed to lay out a circle which looked more star-shaped but it’d do. Lockwood and I stepped over the chains and into the safety of the iron barriers. A sudden thought occurred to me.

“If the Visitor should actually by any means be attached to Mr. Darlington -”, I hesitated to finish the sentence. It sounded absurd and made sense at the same time. “- do you think, he’ll be able to step over the chains?”

The plain thought of it made me nervous. Even though the Visitor hadn’t actively attacked us yet, we knew as well-trained agents that it only takes a friction of a second for its mood to change.

“Well, I know about this Type Two, they’re called _Revenants_ , I believe. They rarely appear, I’d almost never heard of them.”, Lockwood started.

“What is it with them?” My head was buzzing. The echoes were coming in waves, each one getting stronger.

“They can animate their often times rotten corpse which are then their Source.”

“Ew, Lockwood!”

“And they can kind of – er, they are kind of immune to pretty much every defence except for silver seals.”

“Oh, great, just what we needed right now.”

“Of course you can ward them off with a rapier but it won’t exactly hurt them.”

“Guys, would you quit the flirting, Mr. Darlington has moved closer.”

My eyes darted towards the old man. Indeed, he was even closer to us know.

“ _What_ are we going to do?”

Lockwood had removed a salt bomb from his belt. “Guess we’re going to have to figure out what keeps the Visitor at bay.”

He chucked the bomb and it exploded right in front of Mr. Darlington’s feet. Salt splattered against his body, came in contact with the bare skin of his hands. Of course, all stakes were against us that day and so the salt didn’t cause any ectoplasm to fizz. Next I cautiously threw my magnesium flare – or at least attempted to. Halfway through it was hit by a sudden wave of air.

This was the moment where the Visitor’s mood had changed and it wasn’t too pleased with us throwing defences at Mr. Darlington. Next to me, I could sense Lockwood and Kipps going silent and stiffening up.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Lockwood cleared his throat and ran his free hand over his face. “I guess I owe you an apology, Kipps.”

“You sure as hell do, Tony.”

Confused I looked back and forth between them. Before I could say anymore, Kipps had removed his glasses and held the lenses in front of my eyes. Squinting, my eyes took some time to adjust to the new layer. Then I saw it.

Kipps had actually been right. What I saw that night wasn’t like anything else I’d ever seen before. I mean, yes, sure, Marissa and her fusion with Penelope had been quite disturbing to say. But Marissa had been a woman of class and appearance had been top priority. Her spirit had chosen to come back as how she had looked before her death. This though was definitely _not_ comparable at all.

I’m used to seeing horrid manifestations. You kind of sign up for it by taking up this job. And certain ghost types just love wandering around in the most terrible way possible. Be it limbless, showing their deathly wounds or looking like they came out straight out of a grave, all eaten up by the creatures of the earth.

The Visitor we were facing chose a special kind of manifestation. It showed all sorts of stages – some part of its body being similar to those of a human being though peppered with bloody wounds, others being merely anything but bones and bits of flesh in between. I’m afraid, I can’t describe it any further, as that image has touched a certain limit for me. On top of that, not to forget: the Visitor was inside of Mr. Darlington’s body. That added the cherry to the cream – or more accurate, made me almost puke. The combination of a human body with a Visitor who chose to appear in a patched up suit, that’s what sealed the deal for me. I had to turn away to be able to breathe again.

“The Visitor’s _inside_ Mr. Darlington?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s probably the Source?”

“Mhm.”

“How is that even _possible_?”

“I don’t have a clue, Lucy.”

Lockwood didn’t look to great. He was a bit green around his nose. Kipps had gone even paler than I had imagined would be possible. My head was spinning and I was sure, I looked about the same as them.

“Do we… kill him?” Kipps asked quietly.

“Kipps!”, I exclaimed.

The chains around us rattled. Another air wave pushed the iron near to our feet and we hunched up even closer.

“We’ll try silver seals to seal the body. If that doesn’t work, I’m afraid we have to get back to Kipps’ idea.”

“You can’t actually mean that.” I groaned. Mr. Darlington had moved closer and it seemed he would be resistant to our iron barrier.

“No time to argue. Luce, get the seal out.” There really was no time to argue so I bit my tongue and did as he said.

“Ok, Kipps and I are going to back you up. Don’t worry about our little Visitor over there. You can do this.”

I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to myself to later remind Lockwood of past cases where he’d said the same and I’d almost died or been ghost-touched and then died. Still, I unfolded the silver net which weighed next to nothing and held it between my hands. My rapier was tucked away safely in my belt. The interwoven tiny chain links felt like silk in my hands as I stepped over the iron chains on the ground. I carefully approached Mr. Darlington – or what was left of him. Arms outstretched, I readied myself, shifting ever so slightly to the right to throw the net. Cold sweat ran down my face. Usually at this point something really bad happens – and it did, just not as expected. The silver seal hung itself tightly around the body which should do the deal, only it didn’t this time. I can imagine being attacked by silver isn’t the most pleasant experience. And so the Visitor in the body chucked it off, pushed me against the wall and caught me completely off-guard. My head bounced hard against it, the spinning getting even worse. In a flash Lockwood was by my side, fighting back the body with his rapier. I could hear the voice getting angrier, the Visitor wanting to kill said _Charles_ even more.

“ _You complete idiots. Just kill it already._ ”

I froze. During all this mess and the constant pressure in my head I had completely tuned out a familiar buzzing sound I knew all too well. Gasping, I tugged at Lockwood’s free arm.

“Are you alright, Luce?”, he managed to yell back while hardly keeping the body at bay.

“It’s back!”

“What is?”, Kipps asked, joining the fight, goggles on and rapier in his hand.

“The skull!”

Both of them looked at me over the shoulder before turning back.

“Are you sure you haven’t hit your head too hard?”

I glared at Kipps’ back of the head, his read hair patted down with gel. “I am _certain_.”

Both Lockwood and Kipps though were too busy fighting the Visitor off, the rapiers barely keeping him at distance.

I looked around for something to maybe knock Mr. Darlington unconscious. Nearby I found a vase. As fast as I could (more precisely as my head allowed me to) I lounged forward, clasping the vase with both my hands. I definitely didn’t want to get sliced up by their swirling rapiers, so I tried to sneak up behind the scene. Then realizing there was no way to get directly behind Mr. Darlington, I made my way around the couch and stood there, weighing out my options which were limited. The possibility of the vase flying past the Visitor and hitting one of my colleagues instead was quite high. Would I take that risk? Desperate situations call for desperate methods. I swung my arm back, roughly aiming at Mr. Darlington’s head and throwing it with all the strength and force my weakened body allowed me to.

The vase flew through the air and I felt as if time had frozen as I was watching it’s journey. It started strong, flying across the couch and luckily hit the Source. Though not on the back of the head which I had aimed for, it hit the body pretty harshly on the neck, so that he stumbled forward and then collapsed onto the carpet.

There was a moment of silence in which we all tried to regain our breath. We looked at one another and we just _knew_ – this was something different.

***

Sometimes I could really just wrap my arms tightly around George and praise him with compliments. Then I remember when he had lastly taken a shower and that the only thing I’d ever compliment him for was his invaluable research.

Anyways, George had did really well that night. As soon as he’d been back home from his trip to the library he had wondered where we were and found my little note on out Thinking cloth as well as Lockwood’s scribbles of the case one the pad. George being himself had known that something was going on in these part of the outskirts and directly called the house owner and DEPRAC explaining briefly what was going on. Luckily a team lead by none other than Montague Barnes, our beloved inspector at DEPRAC who had more than once tried to shut our agency down in the past, had been working at the site that night, trying to find leads on a murder case.

So just as the body had collapsed to the ground, we had heard furious knocking on the door. Of course, the door could be easily opened now that the Visitor’s Source was unconscious. DEPRAC had cleaned up, listened to our versions of the happening and let us off to have some tea. This might sound like the usual procedure which it surely is – up until this point.

We were called in again by DEPRAC and our stories were laid out again and again. And after hours of discussing (with us, among themselves, calling other people we’d never heard of) they’d come to the conclusion that we had encountered a new type of ghost. Stronger than any Type Two seen until then, this Visitor attached itself to a living body. Ironically, Mr. Darlington would have died a lot sooner due to being sick, hadn’t the ghost taken over his mind and body. Not completely, just so much that Mr. Darlington had experienced brief episodes of no memories of what had occurred. Sadly, the Visitor could not be driven out without that being the death sentence for the old man. Someone had later informed us that Mr. Darlington had passed away and his remains had been burned.

A lot later we were told that Mr. Darlington had been very unfortunate. Catching the Visitor somehow on a walk (it still is unknown how it could attach itself to the man), he had been the Source of the spirit for months. Chase was later identified and arrested for murder, having to spend the rest of his life behind bars. The Visitor itself had been a dear friend of Chase – and later a murder victim of this beloved friend who had turned out to be a psychopath.

Talking about psychopaths, the skull in the jar has remained silent ever since though I believe to have caught it glowing faintly every now and then. George tried to persuade me to start with the experiments again to get it to talk but I refused; I chose to give the skull the time it needed to fully heal and come back or vanish for good.

“I can’t believe we’ve actually had another breakthrough with this case.”, I stated as I was sitting across from Lockwood at the kitchen table. It was partly cloudy, the sun shining thru every now and then and Lockwood & Co. had decided to come together on this Sunday morning to have a brunch and chat about the most recent developments. Kipps was out, fetching baked goods from the bakery and fresh tea from Pitkins. George had headed off early in the morning to the library and promised to be back in time for brunch. Holly would join us soon, she said she’d bring a surprise for us. So it was just Lockwood and me, waiting for the others to join the table. I had brought out our finest china and scooped up anything we had in the fridge to place on the table.

Lockwood smiled at me, making my heart flutter just a little bit.

“I’m glad you didn’t listen to Kipps and try to convince me to leave the case.”

He reached over the table and took my hand in his. My cheeks flushed.

“You know I’d never do that.” I placed a strand of hair behind my ear.

“And I need you to know, I would have listened if you’d insisted.” His dark eyes sparkled as they settled on mine. “After all, we’re in this together right?”

We smiled at each other, taking in the presence of the other and enjoying the moment.

“Got the tea and some sweet stuff!” Kipps entered the kitchen and sat down next to us, setting down some boxes. He then seemed to realize that we were holding hands.

“Uhm, did I interrupt something? Sorry for that. But I guess I’d make it more awkward if I left again.” He scratched his beard and looked everywhere but to us. “So”, he cleared his throat, “are you guys like an official thing now?”

If I hadn’t been red before, I sure was a tomato by now. I felt Lockwood squeezing my hand and looked up at him. He gave me a lopsided grin which I’d not trade for anything in this world and chose to not comment on Kipps’ question.

There was a screeching sound coming from our kitchen window. Kipps was already up and had opened the door.

“Can’t have a party without me, eh, Locky?” Flo Bones in all her glamour stood in front of us, holding a package close to her.

“Please, take a seat Flo. Is that your yearly supply of liquorice you’ve brought? Are you planning on sharing?”, Lockwood greeted her and nodded to the package in her arms.

“None of your business. And I don’t share.” She moved to a seat, bringing the scent of mud and tides with her. I had kind of grown to like the girl which wasn’t much older than me and made her living by selling Sources on the black market.

“I heard about you finding a new ghost type, that’s why I’m here. Anyways, congratulations or so. Now would you pass me that sugar?”

Kipps had already started brewing hot coffee for her and I heard another member arriving through the main door. Not a minute later George came in, arms full of papers and apparently a letter granting us the honour to name the new ghost type. George had been in the library, temporarily stopping his book project and finding out where to sort this ghost type in and which name would be suitable.

“Oh, hi, Flo! I didn’t know you were joining us. Glad you could make it.” He settled down next to Lockwood, neatly putting aside his block of papers. While he was doing so, his eyes briefly flashed our hands, still entangled on the table. He glanced back and forth between us, shrugged and continued to lay out his papers.

“Here’s your coffee, Flo. Holly should be here any minute now.”

As if she’d heard her entry sign, Holly Munro entered the kitchen, holding a gigantic cake in her arms.

“Did you make that all by yourself?”, I asked, mouth wide open. It was beautifully decorated with edible flowers and all in all looked as if it had been bought.

“Well, no, actually, I had some help.” Suddenly very shy, Holly stepped aside – and finally revealed her girlfriend of almost a year by now.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought her with me. I thought we could celebrate more than one milestone today.”

Immediately Lockwood spoke up. “Not a problem at all, we have more than enough for everyone. Please join us – for this is going to be one of the best brunches Lockwood & Co. has ever had.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know how you liked this little story. I had so much fun writing this and was actually quite proud of the part of my brain which is responsible for letting me have this weird dream. I kid you not, it literally all happened like I wrote it down, that's why you don't get to see the whole gang. For some reason it was just Lucy, Lockwood and Kipps.


End file.
